


Compensating

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy, WTF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 04:47:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14709347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Noctis is sleepy, but Prompto’s hand and imagination are still plenty active.





	Compensating

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Prompto makes up excessively elaborate and sometimes ridiculous fantasies about Noct while he's jerking off. The more outlandish, the better” prompt on [the FFXV kinkmeme](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4747.html?thread=9902731#cmt9902731).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

They do most of their fooling around at night, after Prompto’s home from his job and Noctis is finished studying, going over council reports, and just generally doing all the errands of a prince. Most nights they manage to fit _something_ in, but a lot of times, a little bit of kissing is all Noctis makes it through. Their fervent making out will die into lazy nips and pecks, and the next thing Prompto knows, he’ll have a limp hunk of sleeping boyfriend in his arms. He does his best to respect that and try to follow, but it’s _hard._

He rolls over constantly. He peels off his socks, then fetches them and pulls them back on. He adjusts his position so many times that he starts to feel like he’s moving just to move, and then he lies perfectly still, hoping that if he’s immobile long enough, his brain will just shut down. 

But he’s never had the instant-sleep ability that Noctis does, and worse, his hard-on won’t die. It softens halfway, then just sort of lingers: a constant, low buzz of heat that fills his groin and mind. It would probably help if Noctis had thicker curtains. Some of the starlight trickles in around the edges, and Prompto’s adjusted eyes can make out the faint outlines of Noctis’ perfect face. He’s a living temptation even while unconscious. The more Prompto looks at him, the harder Prompto gets again. He tries to resist.

But eventually, he gives in. He rolls over to face Noctis, not _quite_ touching him, but close. They’re both wearing sweatpants and shirts, Prompto’s somewhat fitted and Noctis’ loose and rumpled. Prompto nuzzles at Noctis’ face with a few short whines, but Noctis doesn’t stir. Prompto knew he wouldn’t.

Prompto resorts to the method he had to use before his prince ever gave him a second look: his own inadequate hand. He crudely spits into his palm and pokes his hand beneath his sweats, eyes fixed on Noctis’ lowered lashes. His hand moves all on instinct, his concentration fully glued to Noctis. Noctis is so _gorgeous._ He deserve to be a prince. Or a king, or something. The Emperor of a great land, where every one and everything is beautiful, and Noctis the most beautiful of all.

Prompto keeps his eyes open, but his lashes lower, his mind drifting off into the familiar daydream. He’s got dozens, every one of which grows every time he brings it out, and the lore of other nights makes it all the more satisfying: he pictures Noctis in a costume straight out of King’s Knight, elaborate and awe-inspiring, Noctis walking through the cobbled streets of some ancient, magical land. Flowers bloom wherever he steps. His adoring citizens watch him go, swooning at the sight of him. Brave knights trail behind him. Noctis isn’t just the ruler of his land, he’s some sort of divine, Elven figure, ethereal and graceful, sensual in every moment. Prompto would sneak through the streets and hide behind buildings, straining for even the smallest glimpse. He’d yearn for such a man as he yearned for a friend in high school, except this version goes so much _deeper_. Noctis wouldn’t be out looking for friends. He’d be surveying his people, looking for a worthy concubine, and Prompto would long to be considered.

He bites his lip and squeezes his shaft as he pictures Noctis looking at him, blue eyes fixing him with a piercing gaze. At Noctis’ single nod, his knights would surge to life, chasing Prompto down and dragging him forward. He’d be taken to the castle and thrown at the king’s feet—maybe one of the beefy knights would even lay a foot against his back and force him to kiss the floor. He’d want to kiss Noctis’ feet. He’d be only a lowly outlander, charged with trying to steal a look at the legendary Elven King so far above his station. When he looked up at that very king, his heart would nearly stop. Noctis would be— _is_ —the most handsome thing he’s ever seen.

Prompto’s breath hitches. He strokes himself slowly as he imagines Noctis’ eyes sweeping his slender frame. Noctis would drawl in his deep, lilting voice all of Prompto’s charges. Prompto would plead his case. And Noctis, powerful and lordly, would laugh at Prompto’s begging. But Prompto, tears in his eyes, would offer _anything_ to please the great beauty before him, and Noctis, benevolent, kind Noctis, would take pity on him.

The hallway to the king’s private chambers would be immeasurably long. But Prompto’s mind, quickened by his racing pulse, skips down it, flashes forward to the two of them in Noctis’ harem room. It would be lined in pillows with a large, circular, steaming bath set in the center. Prompto’s pants would tighten at the thought of seeing Noctis bathing in it, and in Noctis’ very real apartment, Prompto’s cock pulses in his hand. His other hand clamps over his mouth as he pictures Noctis turning to him, smiling languidly and bearing sharp, subtle fangs. His pink tongue would run over them. Prompto would be spellbound.

Of course he would be so beautiful. He would’ve been a vampire all along: blessed with immortal youth and a powerful aphrodisiac. His eyes would flash red, like they do in training with Gladiolus when he sparks with magic. But in the daydream, Prompto, an unworthy outsider, wouldn’t know that, and he’d gasp in awe and hunger. He’d want nothing more than to lick Noctis’ fangs and cock. There’d be a tent growing in Noctis’ dress pants, becoming more pronounced the more he talked.

He’d want to suck Prompto right up. Of course he would. He wouldn’t care that Prompto wasn’t pure—he’d just want a loyal, obedient bed slave to drink and fuck to his undead heart’s content. Prompto, caught in Noctis’ alluring gaze, would be powerless to refuse. He wouldn’t refuse anyway. Even if Noctis was _really_ a vampire, Prompto would offer himself in an instant, tilt his head aside and bear his throat and _beg_ for his prince to use him. He writhes in bed, arching off the mattress, head lolling aside in the pillow. His hand pumps faster, a whimper stifled into his palm. 

Dream-Noctis, as cool and unfazed as the real one, would give Prompto a thin smile. He’d sigh and agree, looking bored but thirsty, to add Prompto to his harem. Then he’d say that Prompto would, of course, need to prove himself, and Prompto would profess his willingness to do whatever his king might ask. Noctis would chuckle and undo his fly.

His intricate costume would fall away easily. He’d strip with style but efficiently, until he stood over Prompto, utterly bare, gloriously naked and so _hot_ that Prompto’s mouth would water. He gulps, tilting aside to eye Noctis up again, straining through the darkness to pick up every little detail. Dream-Noctis is flawless, but not that different from the real one. The only truly noticeable defect is the massive length and girth to his hard cock. It would jut out towards Prompto, enormous and erect, even dripping precum down onto Prompto’s face. Noctis would purr that he had a bit of centaur blood in him, and at some point, if Prompto behaved, Noctis might just fuck him in that horse-like form. Prompto would moan and lean into Noctis’ dick, trying vainly to fit his mouth around its giant head.

He stops. His hand squeezes the base of his cock, his teeth gritting together. He wanted to be spent, to sleep, but now that he’s in full swing, he doesn’t want to stop. He wants the story to play out with many different twists and turns and positions. He takes a moment to breathe, to try and calm himself back from the edge, and then he pictures Noctis laughing and stepping away.

Noctis would slip into the bath. He would still be naked, still delectable, but Prompto would have to follow to chase that sight. He’d stand over the edge of the tub, watching Noctis slick and rub the water all over his body. Noctis would purr _“let me clean up for you”_ , and Prompto would moan and protest, because he’d want Noctis raw and dirty and _right that very second_

In that position, his cock would bob just by Noctis’ face. Prompto would be, is, _so hard_. He’s close. Then the fantasy spirals out of his control, and dream Noctis growls for Prompto to come, ordering him to come all over Noctis’ face, body, everywhere. And maybe Noctis wouldn’t even be a prince anymore, just some debauched, desperate man that needed Prompto’s come like nothing else. He’d still be in the bath but need _more_. Maybe he’d be a merman, with his dazzling black tail draped over the side, and he’d look up at Prompto with his brow knitted together and whimper that the water was too shallow and he needed _more._

He’d need _Prompto_. He’d nuzzle at Prompto’s cock and lick Prompto’s balls, and he’d purr that Prompto was the only human he’d ever seen naked—he’d be a poor, virgin merman, but could Prompto teach him how humans make love? And Prompto would promise _yes_ and come all over Noctis’ pretty face—

Prompto cries out, echoing through Noctis’ bedroom, his cock bursting in his hand against the inside of his sweatpants. He pumps himself through it as merman-Noctis swims before his eyes, playing with Prompto’s cock and pleading for more. It wracks a ridiculously satisfying orgasm out of him. He feels absolutely blissful. He lazily strokes his cock as he comes down, until he’s too boneless for even that and pulls his sticky hand away, melting down into the mattress. 

Noctis’ sleepy voice mumbles beside him, “What were you fantasizing about this time?”

A yawn tumbles out of Prompto. When it’s finished, he sheepishly admits, “That you were a mermaid swimming in my cum.”

“You’re fucking weird, dude.”

Prompto knows. But when he turns to give Noctis a sleepy smile, Noctis smiles back. Shuffling closer, Prompto cuddles up to him, already sweltering warm but wanting more. Noctis drapes an arm around Prompto’s middle and closes his eyes again.

They drift off together, and Prompto has great dreams.


End file.
